


The Promise

by Debi_C



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Humor, M/M, cat-sitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-27
Updated: 2002-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debi_C/pseuds/Debi_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel promises his neighbor lady to kitty cat sit.  Jack comes over and it get ugly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Halls Under The Mountain.

Jack O'Neill stuck his head inside the office/library of one Doctor Daniel Jackson, Phdx3, all round nice guy and Jack's love of his life (on the sly though, as he hadn't wanted to visit Makepeace in Ft Leavenworth any time soon.) He pulled the door shut behind him. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." Came the absentminded reply. 

"Hey." Jack meandered in, picked up a book (Daniel ignored him), put it back down, poured two cups of coffee (Daniel's was empty), brought it over to his lover and kissed him on the back of the neck (he found the pale, soft skin right up under the hairline there particularly erotic to lick), and was finally rewarded with a reaction (a delicate shiver of the epidermis complete with goose bumps). However, the professor continued in his quest for fire/knowledge/secrets of the universe/crystal skull/holy grail/or something somewhat similar. 

"So," Jack put his lips right next to his heart's delight so that the light breath would certainly and directly blow softly on to the sensitive lobe. "Are you coming over tonight?" 

"Uh, no." the answer was rather brusque. 

"Whhhyyy?" Pouting here. 

"Well, Jack," Daniel put down the number two yellow pencil next to his calligraphy pen, fine bristle brush and the black plastic pen with the silver tip and the words U.S. Govt. stamped on it. He then rotated his stool to face his tormentor directly and sighed deeply. "It seems one morning last week, while returning from your place at the ungodly hour of 0500 AM, I had inadvertently run into my neighbor, Mrs. Lewisnski. I have a very vague remembrance of her speaking to me but don't recall the actual words. Then, this morning at the barely more civilized hour of 0730 AM, she accosts me in the hall of my building and reminds me that I agreed to take care of Puss-cat while she was gone this weekend to visit some poor niece in Denver whose cad of a husband had run off with his secretary to and I quote, 'Cheer her up' though I can only feature this coming Monday morning having that type of an affect on the 'poor suffering cherub'...her words, not mine." 

O'Neill pulled back so that Daniel could get the full effect of his quizzical look. "And this affects us how?" 

"I am not leaving that undisciplined, destructive, predatory feline alone in my apartment with hundreds of pieces of invaluable artifacts, sensitive materials, important documentation and my FISH! What are you, nuts?" 

"No, Daniel," Jack responded slowly as to not upset his lovers emotional state anymore than necessary. "No, I would say you were nuts for ever agreeing to this deal in the first place." He then pulled back to ask, "And by the way, how can a neutered tomcat be properly referred to as 'Puss-cat', anyway?" 

"Yes, I know." Jackson sighed deeply, running his long sensitive fingers through his short, thick golden brown hair. "I guess I was in such a mellow mood from our uh, activities, that when she got me, I was caught completely off guard." He shook his head. "But she does make the best chocolate walnut cookies and carmel nut brownies in the known universe." And glanced up sweetly through his long, thick eyelashes. "You can come to my apartment though. We'll just spend the weekend there. I had them hook up the cable for the television so you won't miss anything...important." 

Jack glanced around to be sure no invisible aliens, NID operatives, or other team members had slipped through the keyhole to come through the library door. He leaned into Daniel, insinuating himself between the long, lissome legs of his lover. "Are you referring to the Hockey playoffs, the Playboy Channel or...." 

"Actually, the Learning Channel is re-running the documentary on Hathor's Temple with Dr. Nabis. You remember the one I missed last month because we were recovering from the effects of that Apothecary Jar." 

"Yeah, the Apothecary jar..." Jack shook his head and murmured into the little hollow of Daniel's throat right below his right ear. "When will you learn what the words, 'Duck, get down, take cover, and let's blow this joint' does not translate into 'pick it up, fondle it, squeeze it and take the lid off"?" 

"Be that as it may, Jack...I still can't leave my apartment. So..." He raised an eyebrow and smiled that smile. "Are you coming over, or not?" 

Jack sighed. "Oh, of course," He pressed closer against Daniel, putting pressure on sensitive areas and interesting nerve clusters of his lover. "Cause I wuv yu." 

"Okay great, now get lost so I can finish this by 1600 PM." 

Jack rolled his eyes, pulled back and complained. "Daniel, I've told you, when using military time like sixteen hundred hours, you don't have to say am or pm." He turned to go. "It's embarrassing. The other team chiefs pick on me because I have a linguist who can't speak military-ese." As he opened the door, Jack felt a paper ball bounce off the back of his head. He turned back to look at the highly touted, chino clad rear view of his polyglot lover, "You're so gonna pay for that." 

"I'm counting on it, Flyboy." Came the singsong answer from bowed head. "Oh, and bring your Jammies." 

"What? Why?" Jack asked with a suspicious air." 

"Puss-cat licks." 

"Yeewwwch."


	2. Jack O'Neill, Intergalactic Pizza Delivery Boy and Daniel connoisseur.

Later that evening, I'm standing at my very own Doorway into Heaven, a.k.a. apartment 7E in the Rochester Building in Downtown Colorado Springs. I have in hand, one Canadian Bacon, black olive, mushroom, pineapple pizza (hand tossed crust), a six pack of beer (domestic) and a carry bag with (sigh) jammies (because of a cat...go figure). 

I push the doorbell with my free trigger finger and then try again to balance the load to allow access to the keyhole for one key marked RB-7E. It wasn't working. And apparently neither was the doorbell. 

"Daniel, open the damned door!" I thump the bottom of the door with my right hiking boot's toe. "The pizza, your pizza is getting cold." 

"Just a minute, Jack...I have to, damn it, catch the cat." There was the disturbing sound of thumping going on within the confines of R7E. Thumping and...rolling.... and well, thumping again. 

"Daniel," 

More thumping...and rolling...and a crash! Oh, that was so not good. "Daniel," 

"Just a minute, Jack." 

"Cold pizza, Daniel...warm beer!" 

Finally, the love of my life appears in the doorway. He's, well, I've never used the word disheveled before. Hell, before I met Daniel, I'm not sure I knew the word disheveled much less what it might mean. But it is the only word that describes my normally cool looking Archaeologist this evening. His hair is slightly spiky, his face flushed, (Is that a scratch on his left cheek?), his shirt is askew (yeah, I know, don't ask), and his tan trousers show distinct sign of rug burn. Oh, and he's barefoot, but...that's okay. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm trying to catch the cat. I wanted to put him in his travel box while you were here so I didn't have to worry about him bothering us." Daniel steps aside to allow me entrance in the apartment. I look around ...no cat in sight. 

"So, where's it at?" 

"I don't know...exactly." 

"What's that on your cheek?" I ask as I put dinner down on the bar that divides his cooking area from the living room. He puts his hand to his left cheek and pulls away a spot of blood on his fingers. "Damn it!" 

"Yes, dear. Would you like me to kill the cat yet?" Now, normally I would resist murdering dumb(?) animals but bloodying Daniel is NOT a way to get on my good side. 

"No, not yet...but I'll keep that option open." Whoa, serious unhappiness going on here. 

I glance around the apartment. "When did you last see uh, what's his name?" 

"Puss-cat." 

"So how can you name a neutered tomcat Pusscat?" 

"I don't know Jack. It's wrong. He should be Tiger or Killer or Numa." 

"Numa? What the hell does 'Numa' mean?" I go on the stalk myself, looking under various pieces of furniture. 

"Numa was the name for lion in the Edgar Rice Burroughs Novels." Daniel is on my six, backing me up, just like always. 

"Edgar Rice Who?" 

"Tarzan, Jack." 

"That's right, baby. We'll catch this kitty cat and then it's me Tarzan, you...uh, Kazar." 

"Kazar?" 

"Comic books, Daniel, Marvel comic books." 

"Does he wear a cape?" 

I stop crawling around on the floor, wrinkling my good clothes, to turn and look at Daniel. "No, buddy... loin cloth...only a loin cloth...made out of lion skin..." I twitch my eyebrows, Daniel smiles at me...I twitch my butt. He smiles again, then shakes his head. 

"First we catch the cat. Then we play." 

"Why?" I uh, twitch...again. 

Daniel has developed at twitch also, in his right hand. It's reaching for me and he doesn't even realize it. "Cat is dangerous, Jack. He...uh...he's...well, he is...and I think we should..." 

"Eat pizza, Daniel. We should first eat pizza, then take off all or most of our clothes and do wonderful things to each other. Then we should fall asleep in each other's arms and in the morning...we kill the cat." I am such a guy! 

"You are such a guy!" 

"And proud of it, Kazar. Let's eat pizza." 

So, once I finally convince Daniel that the pizza and I are both better when we're served up hot (and the beer is not), we get back over to the couch. There, we do our normal Friday evening traditions of eating pizza, watching some sporting event, Daniel acting clueless about said sporting activity, (oh, yea, it's an act he's been playing for several years now...and we both know it but it's fun.), drinking beer and generally taking off each others clothes for no apparent reason but enjoying the hell out of 'discovering' why. 

Then, after the pizza, beer, and clothes were all gone...well, lets just say a cat was the last thing on my mind. I had just gotten 'my' archaeologist in an interesting and studious mood about 'my' artifacts when I heard it...a low, guttural rasping noise. 

You know, I once read a description of a mountain lion's cry...the author was Grey or L'amour or well, one of those western type of guys who KNEW what he was talking about. He described a Mountain Lion's cry as 'the sound of wet canvas ripping'. I had always thought that was a cool description. But when you hear the description come to life behind you just as you're about to make your significant other very happy, well, let me tell you, it puts a damper on the festivities. Suffice to say, I fell off both the couch and Daniel. 

I rolled over to my hands and knees and turned to face...the biggest, scariest, ugliest domestic cat I have ever seen in my entire life. Thirty-five pounds if he's an ounce. A dark tawny color with orangeish brown tiger stripes, cold emerald green eyes and missing one ear almost entirely. His head is as big as a cantaloupe. A Robert Makepeace of cats: big, ugly and dangerous. 

"Stay behind me, Danny." I say softly. "And hand me my Glock." 

"You didn't bring it." 

"Hand me your Glock." 

"I don't have one." 

"P-90?" 

"No." 

"Zat?" 

"No." 

"Well, what do you have?" 

"Travel cage." 

The man thinks I am a miracle worker...or a whole lot dumber than I look. "Daniel, get me a blanket." Or a burlap bag, or a Watusi lion spear...I still prefer the Glock idea myself. I hear Daniel slip off the couch and head into the bedroom after the blanket...then I see him slipping around the couch to get behind...uh, Puss-cat. Our eyes meet in the perfect understanding of soul mates, I give him the signal and he drops the blanket over the tigerish terror. 

A squall erupts from the feline frigate to equal the sound of a death glider on a strafing run. I throw my arms around the fighting lump of cat-flesh and watch as five talons of one and one half inch length protrude from the fuzzy blanket not two inches from my face. Daniel is holding down his other end, literally, and is maintaining the status quo. Finally, by twisting and turning the blanket, we are able to secure the beast in it's prison of polyester and cotton. 

We carry the fifty pound beast (well plus blanket) and manage to wrestle the whole kit and caboodle into the three foot by three foot by three foot travel box and slam the door behind him. We can hear the ripping and tearing as the blanket bravely sacrifices itself for the well being of the two men it had so successfully cozy-ed for the past year of our relationship. I make a mental note to honor it's demise and purchase a replacement for further cozying activities later on. 

I turn and look at Daniel. He had scratches on both a hands, both arms and down the left side of his chest with blood droplets welling and rolling down his torso. For this, Puss-cat has to die.


	3. Daniel Jackson, Archaeologist to the Stars and Prey Animal.

I awakened with the sun shining in my eyes. We had forgotten to pull the curtains last night when we came to bed. Well, I guess tumbled into bed was a better term. Jack was at his alpha male best. He had not only brought home the proverbial bacon (Canadian on pizza), but he had successfully protected his 'mate' (me) from the evil in the dark (Puss-cat). Then we had gone all nurturing and he doctored my scratches and I doctored his. Well, kind of. Licking is doctoring after all and then the sucking and nuzzling and God, he had been wonderful. The sex was some of the best we'd ever had...and believe me when I say that his average is enough to make me...well, that's another story. 

However, this morning I awaken to bright rays of morning sunlight in my face. I finally dislodge my lover's grip so that I can get up and pull the curtains. As I roll out of the bed, I stagger to the curtains and pull the cord that controls the armature. The curtains start to slide shut, then I notice. There seems to be a length of curtain that is no longer attached. In fact, it's about a two-foot long length...it's kind of attached...just sort of well; the term shredded comes to mind. 

Then I notice something else. The apartment is quiet. Last night, while Jack and I were um, active...we could still hear the growling and snarling of the captive cat as he ripped my queen sized thermal blanket into kitty sized hankies. Of course, at that time I had been heavily involved with my own dominant male, so I really hadn't paid a lot of attention to the feline verbal display. (Jack's was keeping me well in hand.) But, now, you could hear a pin drop. There wasn't even any bubbling noise coming from my aquarium. Worried about my fish I continued on into the living room area. I had been right to be concerned. 

The chrome lid to the tank was dislodged, the light was out, the air pump was silent and the little scuba guy who was one of the bubble sources was dangling by his helmet out side of the tank. There had been one finny casualty. It was the big fat black bubble eyed 'goldfish' I had nicknamed Maybourne. I picked up what was left of him from the floor and promised him the traditional toilet funeral... later. I checked the pump system carefully. Luckily I was able to get everything put back together to get the oxygen circulating properly so that the rest of the gang was not in any real distress. After Macgyvering my fish tank, I looked around my apartment cautiously. 

The travel box was sitting in the kitchen area, one sidewall conspicuously missing. There is a large ragged hole where the plywood side panel used to be. There was some cat hair and what appeared to be blood on the jagged edges. Puss-cat a.k.a. Numa the terrible had escaped. 

"Dannnielll..." I heard the call of my lover as he rolled over in our queen-sized nest. I could see in my mind's eye the delightful view of his totally nude and semi-erect awakening body. For a man who keeps telling everyone how old and worn out he feels, he has more sex-drive than the average twenty-five year old. I'm a number of years his junior, but he has been known to wear me out then wake me up again in a few hours with his insistent 'little Colonel'. I just love being in love with him. 

But...then I hear a noise. A very slight noise, sort of a padding sound as if something was trying to sneak up on someone. "Jack" I call out nervously, "Jack..." 

"Where are you Daniel? Come back to bed." 

"Jack, Puss-cat has escaped." 

"How can you call a neutered tomcat Puss-cat?" 

"Jack, did you hear me?" Then I heard it. A thump and a scramble. 

"Yeah...' His voice becomes very quiet. "I did." 

"Where do you suppose he is?" 

"I suppose he is in the top of your closet...watching me...watching him." 

"Jack!" I start to hurry towards my bedroom. 

"Stay out of it, Daniel." He's using his voice on me. The voice that always says, 'get behind me Daniel, so I don't shoot you accidentally instead of him'. "Close the door." 

"No, Jack! You can't!" 

"Why?" 

"Jack, he's not a wild animal. He's Mrs. Lewisnski's pet cat for God's sake. You can't kill him!" 

"Daniel, you know that sweater that Sam got you for Christmas last year?' 

"Uh, yes." 

"You know, the blue one that she ordered for you special from those islands north of Scotland?" 

"Uh, well, okay, yeah." I hadn't known that! 

"Well, call my cousin Patrick, because someone needs to play Amazing Grace on the bagpipes for it." 

"My Sweater! He killed my sweater?" Sam would be heartbroken when she found out...and I already was! 

"Jack." 

"Yes, Daniel." 

"Kill the cat." 

 

"Nope," I heard another tone come from Jack. "I don't think so." 

"What?" Now I'm mystified. 

"Daniel, I'm having a moment here." 

I waited breathlessly. Jack's moments were admittedly few and far between. I didn't want to get in the way of it, because there was no telling what kind of moment it was. 

"Daniel, close the door." 

"Jack..." 

"Daniel, close the damned door and go and find me a box, preferably a metal one." 

"How big?" 

"Big enough for Numa here and a comforter." 

"Jack, that's a goose-down com...never mind." I slowly closed the door making sure that it was completely shut. "Jack, please, put on some clothes so he doesn't get anything...important to my happiness." 

"Putting my jammies on Danny-boy. Kinda important to me too, ya know." 

I then went to my hall closet to get a raincoat. Well, I have to go out through the hallway and into Mrs. Lewisnski's apartment to get the 'other' travel box. And if I have to slink through the hallway naked as a Jaybird to get a metal travel box for the homicidal feline that was presently threatening my lover, I might as well be dressed in the traditional garb of a pervert. 

I had seen the crate in there before. She had a set of candlesticks on it on top of a little silken scarf and a series of cat toys. I remember thinking that it looked like a little altar set up to worship the cat goddess, Bastet. Then I had chuckled to myself when later, I had noticed a delicate and obviously hand made menorah on the dining room table. She didn't worship the cat goddess; she was just a dotty old lady who loved her Puss-cat. The very same Puss-cat who was threatening to disembowel my Special Operations trained Colonel. I have the strangest life. 

So, after my stealth run to the next door apartment, I finally return to my place dragging the required Kitty Kabana (it was stenciled on the barred door, I swear.) "Jack, I'm back." 

"About freaking time, Daniel. I nearly lost some good skin here. Where ya at with it?" 

"I'm in the kitchen, next to the sliding glass door. It's on the floor cause it's really large and heavy." 

"It would have to be." Came the dry reply. "Now, here's the plan." 

I listen closely, and it's a good one. (They usually are.) Jack's going to throw my two hundred and fifty dollar queen sized goose-down comforter over Puss-cat...(Yeah, I know, but it is the thickest thing in there and Jack is worth quite a bit more to me than that)...Then he is going to wrap him up, grab him around the whatevers (he is neutered after all) and carry him into the kitchen and shove him into the metal Kitty Kabana. The only flaw that I can see is that this is the exact same plan we used last time (except with a cheaper blanket and less secure Kabana.) 

"Okay, Daniel. Come be my Gatekeeper." Jack's disembodied voice calls through the bedroom door. "When I say now, open this door, run over to the box(Kabana), and open the door. Then be ready to slam that sucker shut...and no one will get hurt. Got it?" 

"Got it!" 

"Good." 

"Ready?" 

"Ready!" 

"Go!" 

I hear the sounds of battle. There is a combined roar as the two Feral Males charge at each other. Then, a scuffling noise, followed by a ripping sound. A heavy thump, a crash and a muffled curse. Then a cry of pain (no, I can't tell whose.) And more scuffling, thumping and bumping. Finally, the hoarsely shouted word 'NOW' and I jerk open the door. I see the ivory colored comforter, I see Jack's beet red face with a bleeding gash down his cheek, and I see feline flying feet of fury. Then I turn and run to the Kabana, I pull the metal barred door open, holding on to the gate and it's locking mechanism. 

But, all Special Operations plans don't go without a hitch. Just as planes crash in the desert, and parachutes don't always open, cats it seems can get out of comforters. Jack yells, "He's loose! Duck!" Great! There's nowhere for me to go except out the sliding glass door. I push it open and try to get out the door backwards, but... Puss-cat leaps from the comforter towards the first clear path he sees, which is, of course, out the door. His thirty pound plus bulk hits me on top of the head, rakes four parallel furrows six inches long down my scalp backwards, forcing me down on my face on top of the metal framing of the glass door. All I can see is linoleum and aluminum and a large Jack-shaped shadow vaulting over me after the cat. I scramble to my feet and turn to see slim pajama -clad hips sliding over the brass banister which is the last bastion between my safe, sunny patio and a seven floor drop to asphalt and roaring metal monsters. 

"JACK!" I scream as I lounge after him. I just manage to get a grip on his waist as the impetus starts to drag him over the edge. My glasses, which had never stabilized after my impact with the doorsill, continue on in their flight marking what would have been Jack's ultimate landing zone. Under the wheels of a UPS truck. 

"Jack!" 

"Danny?" 

"Jack, get your ass back in here." I scream at him. For some unknown reason, I'm angry with him. Go figure. 

"I'm trying Danny." His voice is now quite calm. "But I need a hand here." 

"Uh..." I can't talk, I just hang on to his waist and realize that he's breathing in deep gulps of air. 

"Here, Daniel. Reach down here and take the cat." 

"Cat!" 

"Yeah, reach down here and take Puss-cat. Put him in his crate and then come back and pull me up." 

"Cat?" 

"DANIEL! TAKE THE FUCKING CAT AND PUT HIM IN HIS DAMNED CRATE! OKAY!" 

I reach down unknowingly and Jack's hand passes me what I find to be a cat's tail. Almost as if in a dream, I take the tail/digit/attachment/whateveryouwanttocallit and lift the thirty-five pound dead weight back onto the balcony, where I drop it unceremoniously on to the concrete. Then I quickly wrap my arms back around Jack's waist and cautiously, gently, and with infinite care pull my lover back onto my balcony and and into my shaking arms. We collapse back down onto the floor and lay there in shock, just holding on to each other as hard as we can. Jack notices Puss-cat lying in a heap not two feet away from us. 

"I told you to put him in his crate." 

"I couldn't. I would have had to let go of you." 

"I would have hung on." 

"I don't care." I kissed him on the face, tasting the blood from his long scratch-wound. We sit there together, watching the cat watching us. Finally, Puss-cat gets up shakes himself and begins to lick his fur while keeping a chary eye on the both of us. Jack starts to giggle, and then he starts to laugh. 

"What's so funny?" I demand. 

"I was just thinking of the headlines on tomorrow's paper. "Gay Air Force couple plunge to death on Granmercy Avenue taking neighbor's helpless cat with them. News at eleven." He kept on laughing, then managed. "George would never forgive us." 

As if knowing he was included in the discussion, Puss-cat stood up, stuck his tail in our faces and went into the kitchen, climbing into the Kitty Kabana and pulling the door shut after himself.


	4. The Return of the Lewisnski

Sunday morning at 07:30 AM, there was a knock on my apartment door. Jack, still clutching his glass of orange juice and the sports page opened the door. Mrs. Lewisnski was standing there in her traveling costume of windbreaker, tailored blouse, walking shorts, support hose and sensible shoes. Jack and I were both suitably attired in jammies and robes. Two conservative bachelors sharing a sensible breakfast. "Oh, Colonel O'Neill. How nice to see you." 

Jack smiled graciously. "Nice to see you too, Mrs. Lewisnski. Would you like to come in? Daniel, you have a guest." 

I had come out of the kitchen where I had been turning the pancakes. "Hi, Mrs. Lewisnski." I greet her politely as she kisses my cheek. "You're home early." 

"Why yes, Daniel, I am. It seems that the Cad had a change of heart and left his secretary at the den of iniquity and returned home to the breast of his loving family, the poor cherub." She sighed romantically. "The path of true love just never seems to run smoothly anymore." 

Jack, who had taken his seat back at the kitchen table choked on his orange juice as I nodded vacantly to her rambling. 

"Yes, I know how it is." He manages to say. 

"Oh, my yes. That's right. You're a divorcee aren't you, and poor Daniel here a widower and at such young ages." The woman pats me on the cheek as she goes on, naming several of her various nieces, cousins and other unattached females that she knows who would just love to meet us both...such nice normal young men. 

But finally, she gathers her Puss-cat under her arm and we promise to deliver the metal prison crate back over to her apartment after we finish breakfast and get dressed. She nods absently as she gazes worshipfully down at her beloved pusskins and I close the door behind her leaving us finally completely alone in my wrecked shambles of an apartment. 

"Jack?" I step over to where he's sitting down with his newspaper at the breakfast table. 

"Yeah, Danny." He puts the paper down and looks up at me. 

"Yesterday morning, during our uh, experience with the cat, you said you were having a moment." 

He looks at me and nods. "Yeah, so?" 

"What kind of moment was it?" 

"Well, Daniel, while I was lying there buck nekkid watching a neutered tomcat named Puss-cat stalk me, it occurred to me that he and I had a lot in common." Jack continued on sagely. "Here we were, two guys, just trying to get along as best we could. I mean, he'd been taken from his happy home, away from the love of his life by two jerks who didn't really like or understand him. Puss-cat didn't know what was what or who was who. He just knew he didn't belong here and didn't want to be here. He was just, well, misunderstood and trying to get by as best as he could." Jack said as he looked at me with loving eyes. "I've been there and done that a few times, and so have you. So, I just wanted to get him somewhere that he couldn't hurt himself or anybody else." Jack smiled softly at me and put down his juice glass. Then, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in between his knees and up against him with a firm embrace "Now, my little gatekeeper, want to come with your keymaster and go play hide the key some more and see what we can unlock, huummm." 

I look down at him and run my fingers through his hair. "Yes, please."

As we go back to the bedroom, he starts to sing. "I've got a brand new pair of rollerskates, you've got a brand new key. I think that we should get together and try them out to see. Lalalalala Lalalala. Oh, I've got a brand new pair of rollerskates and you've got a brand new key."

He's such a guy.


End file.
